Night of Ashes
by Timballisto
Summary: He turned his head into the wind and started walking blindly, letting the ash flakes settle on his tear-stained cheeks, one eye leaking water, the other blood.' A short oneshot on the aftermath of the massacre of the 41st Legion. -Oc centric-


A slightly dark fic on what happened at the massacre of the 41st Legion.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((0))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Smoke drifted across the barren field, the sky black wit ash that floated down like black snow. The gutted hulls of Fire Nation tanks loomed in the haze, long eerie sentinels to the massacre that had ended the lives of five hundred thousand benders.

The cries of the living had ceased hours ago, now filled with the sound of the dead.

Silence.

Carrion crows danced from carcass to carcass, no discriminating between red or green, Earth or Fire, dead was dead, and the dead were food. A single black crow, cocked his head, his blood encrusted beak opening as he let out an unearthly caw that echoed down the valley.

The slopes, once green with trees, were black with the stumps of the mighty pines, burnt to ash or sticking up like teeth against the grey and black sky, the animals that had inhabited the place dead or gone. The once clean, pure stream that had gurgled through the valley bottom was now a small trickle, blocked by the bodies heaped in its path, the small part that managed to navigate its way through was red, and it was more blood than water.

The crow let out another laughing caw, before scanning the plain for any other good piece of meat, his own was getting stale. The plans made of mice and men made no difference to him, except, perhaps that were humans went, death followed.

The crow hopped over to another carcass, this time in the red tunic of a Fire Nation soldier, and pecked at one of the eyeholes in the helmet, his great little beak ripping and tearing-

The crow let out one squawk before it was enveloped in fire, dead before it hit the ground.

The firebender sat up slowly, his gloved hands nursing his helmeted head, blood staining the white face plate a crimson that matched his uniform. Staggering to his feet, the veteran (the notches in the spear he used to haul himself upright were more than a testament to the number of suicidal campaigns Command sent his platoon on) managed to get to his feet, his spear butt thudding into the ground as he tried to lever himself out of the hole of ash he was in.

Sergeant (He had been Sergeant for two years, he all but forgotten his own name) clutched onto his spear like a drowning man, in awe of the destruction and pointless massacre that he had been a victim of.

Of course, the whole point of the 41st legion was to be the bait, while more experienced, skilled soldiers waited to pounce on the unsuspecting enemy. Only this time, no reinforcements, no one to fall back on, no one to save them.

That was when Sergeant had been sure he would die.

Rocks had been flying from all directions, felling men that he had eaten with, wept with, lived with, for the past two years they had been on campaign. These were the men he had known like family, trusted like family, killed by Earth kingdom soldiers who just wanted them to go away.

The bile rose in his throat and he had to force himself to choke it down.

The glorious Fire Nation…it made him sick. Disgusted, Sergeant threw his helmet off, tore the regulation Fire Nation Army armor off, the knee high boots with the curled toe, the tunic with the Fire Nation insignia, he tore it all off and, with a flash of anger, burned the symbol to a crisp.

Even as he watched the tunic burn, he knew the endless cycle would not stop, the fighting would continue until the Fire Lord was dead, and his son, the son that had been exiled trying to save his people from this pointless massacre, was reinstated as the heir to the throne.

Either that or the Avatar came out from his hundred year hibernation and saved them all.

Sergeant turned his head into the wind and started walking blindly, letting the ash flakes settle on his tear-stained cheeks, one eye leaking water, the other blood.

He turned away from the east and followed the setting sun.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Whadaya think? Good? Bad? Should I do some more o' this stuff featuring Sergeant, my OC?

Press da button mon. You know du want to.


End file.
